


Distant Key

by WhiteWine02



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Cannibalism, F/M, Hannibal Lecter is a Cannibal, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Set halfway of season 2, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:00:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27801160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteWine02/pseuds/WhiteWine02
Summary: They knew each other, for Will not more than casual acquaintance, the fiancé of his therapist and friend Alana. For Hannibal he was a mouse, unconscious of the game he avidly took a part off. Yet, by the time the realization dooms over Will it will be too late, already at the mouth of the beast.
Relationships: Alana Bloom/Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 20





	1. Trapped

He was captured, that he could tell. A sick sense of relief washed over, finally being caught left only the last act of the play, one end he has feared and yearned for so long, to be able to take a last breath, one without compromise, one who belonged to no one but him, one that he chose, that he understood. It has been a while since something made sense to Will, every aspect of his life was falling into alien hands, being passed around like a rag doll but having little to no energy to speak up. Despite the distinctive cold of metal surrounding his wrists, the dreading aroma of blood stuck to his skin in a sweet way, like a layer of honey that his predator could barely wait to taste, and the obvious shivers of the surface against his skin that could only mean nudity. Even that was an assumption, laying there he understood nothing but the fact that he was captured, and that was all he needed. 

He let out a breath, then a chuckle, not caring to check if he had company, not caring to check if it was  **him** . In his line of work it was no surprise to be the victim of such a terrible fate, not being the first of Jack’s outcasts to fall into it, even less of a surprise after seeing all the public articles of the maddening Freddie Lounds shooting his face for millions to see, to pick through like a carcass lying in an experiment table, ironically not far from his current situation, he laughed again. 

It had to be  **him** , a name he ignored but a shape that had engraved into his daily routine for what had seemed like months, but who was he to tell, it could’ve been a couple of days and his inconsistent mind would convince him it had been a matter of years. Was he even tied up by  **him** ? Did he ever leave the asylum? Yes, yes he did. He was not the Chesapeake Killer, Will may not be an innocent man in many ways but never that monster; not yet. He had gotten too close, ignoring Jack and Alana, and lept straight into the trap in such a childish fashion that he questioned if he was even captured or just accepted an invitation. 

“So he wakes.” Spoke the voice, a little too calm for this situation, too used to it. Will shivered in realization, oh how much he had yearned for being mistaken for once, for Jack to be able to shut his mouth, but of course Will was right. The Killer had been stalking him for months, short calls, short moments when he left his silhouette being seen by a frightened Will, who would go spiraling in his own madness. It was never a hallucination, not his subconscious playing with him as Chilton said so many times during court, not repressed memories as Alana exclaimed or just a plain call for attention as Jack seemed to think but dared to not say. “Will, correct?” 

Will laughed, if his profiling and assumptions were correct, he was about to be eaten, yet he found the attempt of small-talk a great joke. 

“Yes, that sounded less comedic in my head.” Said the killer, the tone increasing, getting closer. “You are as safe as someone in your position could be, you will not be dying.”

_ Yet _ , the word hung over the air. Will layed confused, he could feel him closer but not enough for him to enter his visual field, he needed to see him, unsure what he could do with that information anyways but the familiarity of the voice was itching on him, he needed to know. The short calls were always edited, too low for any human, the description had only fueled the imagination of Chilton and the sympathy of Alana, just an hallucination. But yet, Will recognized the voice, different in many ways but it was the caller, he was as sure of that, but it was also someone else, that’s where the itchy uncertainty layed.

“Will you not plead for your life?”

Will he? It was like this was practiced and begging was nowhere near the playbill. 

“Did that ever help any of your victims or did that just made them taste better?” Finally dared to ask, not regretting it but he still held his breath, he could fool his mind but not his body, it didn’t matter how accurate the profiling of the Chesapeake Ripper was or how familiar the voice sounded, he was at the feet of his executioner. 

“Who do you think I am?” said the killer, his tone remaining neutral and in the same distance, close but not approaching. Will was taken aback, he did not expect a reluctancy, not while being completely restrained.

“Do I have to answer that?” Will was unsure where words came from, he was just following a script between two unknown people, he shrugged, he had to at least be able to control his words, that may be the only thing in his power and the silence by the other man only led him on, he was not satisfied. “The Chesapeake Ripper?”

“What a change from your certain words,” wrong answer. He was getting closer, his voice brushing his perception, as far away as Will wanted the man he also wished he would speak more, enough for him to come close enough to be identified, as if that would help him. “yes my dear Will I am, but you already knew that. Learn to not ask useless questions, I don’t enjoy losing time in such a useless manner but for what I’ve gained you also quite dislike it.” 

Will nodded ¿ashamed? 

“I do not wish to keep you in such an uncomfortable manner but we both know better than to set your chains free just yet.” The killer continued, the voice shifted, now by his side. “I don’t wish to cause more discomfort but it was unexpected for you to awaken this early.”

Warm, his touch was approaching towards his right arm and with the threat of the needle just brushing his skin he rapidly shifted his head. 

Hannibal.

The sympathy of Alana becomes ever clearer as the world around him is consumed by darkness, the manipulation in her words now blimmin with red lights. It was him all along, the distant but intriguing fiancé, one who asked too many questions about the ongoing investigation, one who was always present in his trials, one Alana admitted to asking for help with his treatment, one who he has shared a table with, one he had trusted with food, and as the world caved the last he could feel was a wave of nausea that would accompany in what he would consider his worst nightmares.

  
  



	2. Victim

His dogs were barking, not at the door strangely, not at anything but his bed. Teeth bare, in rigid positions, slowly approaching his stiff body and he could do nothing other than wait. The barking increased violently, an orchestra of maddening animals about to devour him, he didn't understand the sudden change, what he once had considered his only allies now shaking by their desire of ending him. And as the teeth began to puncture his arms, tearing his skin rapidly, the way a desperate child ripped apart the wrapping paper on Christmas morning the pain began to surface, his mind was too busy, too confused, too wounded. What had he done to deserve such a treatment? If he had done something as terrible to deserve the dogs turning his body to shreds he would do nothing to prevent it, he was no one to change the doom of death. They stopped, his blood pouring at such a speed that survival was out of the question so as he layed in his damp blankets the only worry that lingered his mind was the uncertain destiny of his friends, death was the only place a dog who had tasted blood belonged to. He closed his eyes, ready for the silence and darkness to suffocate him but as he was in the edge, just between the darkness of his closed eyes and the one at the end of the cliff, he felt a slow tapping in his forehead, inviting him to leave both darknesses behind. Neither seemed a good option, the touch was constant, whatever was out there yearned for being noticed, feared? It would not leave, not allowing him to slip into unconsciousness. Defeated, he opened his eyes. 

**Him**

Will yanked awake, sweating. The sense of relief quickly evaporating as his eyes adapted to the unknown room, memories flushing like a cold shower, his whole body shivering as the images replayed, the sound of the stalking footsteps, the cold of the medical table, his voice. The realization made the room spin and he wondered if he would ever feel grounded again, the revelation no longer a surprise, it never really was but it still didn’t stop the unavoidable wave of nausea that was now travelling its way out of Will’s body. He tried to stand, in a useless wish to not make a mess out of himself, as if it would make any difference, but his body came to a sudden stop as the chain in his right ankle trapped him in place; that was more than enough of a reason to give up. He stayed silent, not a single twitch provoked by the revolting smell or even the fear of his uncertain future, he looked around finding that he was chained to the leg of a bed, no longer metal but one that could resemble its dreadful look, reminded him of where he rested in the asylum, even there he had more space to move. Another difference was the light, he could barely make out the outline of the bed but nothing more, darkness swallowing him whole.

Was Hannibal there? In the deep unknown, mocking his pathetic state, waiting for him to beg for release. He was uncertain of what scared him the most, his presence or the lack of it, his possible indifference drying his mouth, scattering his thoughts, causing him to finally sit down. Will was nothing more than another victim, another prey, another plate.

“Do not worry about the mess Will.”

Will instantly stood up, a useless way to assert dominance, the rattle of the chain almost mocking him. He tried to grasp a sense of his pitch black surroundings, outlying the room but his hunter was nowhere to be seen, another shadow in the sea of darkness. 

“You’ll have to excuse me for the poor conditions but I believe you are not ready yet.” Said Hannibal, just as there was a quick flick and the room was painted in a surgical white light. Will closed his eyes, losing his balance and falling into the bed. He stayed like that, curled up until the man spoke again, regretting letting himself been seen as vulnerable for even a second. “Eat.”

The man placed a tray with what looked like smoking chicken and a side of an exotic salad, quite a simple meal coming from Hannibal Lecter. The aroma filled his nostrils, just as he looked to the side, to the mess, and the nause came again, the hunger and desire he felt sickening every inch of his body. Will backed up into the far corner side of the bed, as far as he could of the fuming plate, not caring if the reek of his own filth was almost unbearable. 

Will steadied his breathing, he would not break, not this early in the game. He met his predator's eyes only to see a smile, they stared at each other until Hannibal was satisfied, releasing a small chuckle as he left the room. Leaving a ravenous Will and an oozing piece of meat, one that only **he** cooked so well. Will resisted but not being brave enough to take a stand and throw the plate, asserting a firming dominance over the situation, leaving it to torture himself at the feet of the bed, he deserved it. Because wasn't he the one that came back all alone at night? Knowing perfectly that he would be there waiting, the increamenating scene too  _ boring _ to be a one act play, the cabin was nothing more than threatics. He knew this as he led himself through the woods, with nothing more than his own clothes, no plan on really going back. He deserved it because he knew that when his character would become too tiring to play he would succumb, thanking himself for being disgusting enough to not throw the plate in the first place. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking so long to update, the chapters are really short but I will try to make them longer as the story progresses.

**Author's Note:**

> I just need to get this story out of my mind and I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing. Sorry for bad english, it's not my first language so if you have any corrections i'm open to them!


End file.
